


dress to impress

by owltype



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: FFXV Small Secret Santa, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owltype/pseuds/owltype
Summary: I participated in the FFXV Small Secret Santa Exchange and got faewritesthings ♥ She requested Gladio/Noctis or Ignis/Noctis, with them sharing/stealing each other’s clothes or sleeping bags.





	dress to impress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [faewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faewrites/gifts).



> I hope I did not disappoint!

In his defense, Noctis really had believed he could reel in that fish without any help. He might be small but he’s strong. He can hold his own against Gladio, anyway.

On a good day.

Today? Is not a good day. It hadn’t started well and it certainly isn’t ending well. Not when he’s in the water, beloved fishing pole gone—probably now lost at the bottom of the river, or being dragged behind the fish who prized it from him—clinging to a low-hanging tree branch lest he be swept away by the current, waiting for Gladio to  _shut the fuck up_ and pull him out.

“Are you done yet?” Noctis asks with a glare.

Gladio beams down at him. “Of course, princess,” he says, still laughing, and grabs Noctis by the collar of his shirt, hauling him from the river. “Fish: one. Noctis: zero.”

“Shut up,” Noctis mumbles. He pulls his sodden shirt over his head and wrings it out, pulling a face. “Fucking perfect.”

“Here.” Gladio pulls his shirt off and shoves it over Noctis’ head, Noctis’ vision going black for a second as the cloth passes over his eyes.

Gladio makes a sound like a small explosion, air forcefully exhaled in fits, eyes raking over Noctis’ form with glee.

Noctis follows his gaze, staring down at himself in rising mortification. The hem of Gladio’s shirt practically brushes the tops of his knees while the sleeves hang past his elbows. He looks fucking ridiculous. Gladio must think so, too, laughing so hard he nearly falls over, until it’s less sound and more body-convulsions, really, hands braced on his knees and tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Fuck off,” Noctis says and walks away with as much dignity as he can muster.


End file.
